The Music of the Night
by Katybug
Summary: A series of one-shots from Erik's point of view.
1. Erik's First Opera

Hello, my fellow phans! This is the first story that I've done in months, so it's pretty short. Recently, I've gained an unhealthy _Phantom_ obsession, and, like most people, I find Erik's character fascinating. So, I decided to write a series of one-shots from his point of view. These are all based on the character from Leroux's novel, although you might find some references to popular adaptations (for instance, I hinted a couple of the songs from Webber's version here).

Don't forget to R&R! -KTBG

Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, or any other characters from _The Phantom of the Opera_.

NOTE: I used my laptop's translator, so forgive me if the French is a little off.

**- - -**

**The Music of the Night: **

**Erik's First Opera**

The rippling curtains glowed ruby red as the orchestra began their song. Angelic strings sang out a haunting tune first, making way for the harsher sounds of the trumpets and organs that were soon to come.

Oh, how my senses crumbled at the beautiful music! All but my hearing shut down as I closed my eyes and my mind traveled far, far away. Breathing slowly, my body shook with the harmonious vibrations flooding the theatre. My inhales and their exhales kept the pace, and this small heart of mine was overflowing with something I'd never felt before. It was...love. Yes, love. An intoxicating sensation that I could feel from the tips of my ears to the ends of my toes.

Suddenly, I was drawn back into reality by the sound of a voice, clear as glass. My eyes flew open in hopes of a glimpse at the source of such a voice. A woman, plump and clad in the most ridiculous of robes, stood in the center of the giant stage, belting out libretti in a foreign tongue that I'd studied, but could not remember. Her coils of inky hair were tied back in a way I'd never seen before, and atop her curly locks was a balanced hat of apples and grapes and pears.

Before long, another singer appeared, this one a bass. He was also round and dressed in a fantastic costume, but looked regal and brave. His song reached out to the woman, calling her, needing her. "Splendide..." I mumbled, astonished by the passion and drive. "Absolument étonnant..." Sighing, I felt the peppy chant of flutes drain me to weightlessness, a feeling I'd only experienced when singing myself.

The flute was something familiar to me. The gypsies played flutes at some points when we were all seated around the nighttime fire, back when I was traveling in the shows. Their echoing songs used to hum me to sleep, bringing somewhat pleasant dreams.

**- - -**

The scenes changed, and new characters were introduced. Thinking back to my studies, I made out some key phrases, such as "war of foolish pride" and "servant of vengeance", but the music was what truly told the story. A young warrior decided to head off to war, and returned only to find that his family had been mutilated by brutal assassins. The following events were the result of his thirst for revenge. Every time that wonderful tenor opened his mouth, the music took over his body, controlling every movement, every note sung.

This intrigued me. Not just the fact that the music latched on to every inch of me, but just the whole air of this enchanting thing called opera.


	2. Little Lotte

Hello, again. This next one-shot is a bit longer than my previous one, and it does fit in a specific place in the book. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out where it goes.

Anyway, like always, this is from Erik's point of view, so there _is _a little bit of Raoul bashing. Now, I happen to love Raoul, and I believe he is a very respectable character. In other words, he is not a fop.

R&R, please! -KTBG

Disclaimer: I don't own Erik, or any of the other characters from _The Phantom of the Opera_.

**- - -**

**The Music of the Night:**

**Little Lotte**

I could feel the drips of angels' tears while she sang. It was unlike anything of this world, her voice. A burst of vibrant colors in the cold grayness of my cellars.

Christine Daaé was the woman millions dream of. Her ivory complexion matched the shade of her Swedish hair perfectly. The sweetness of her smiling face overflowed in her heart, translating into her actions. Never had I met someone so kind and so gentle. The way she talked and moved lifted my spirits to heights I'd never imagined.

As the music flowed from her lips, her bright, blue eyes sparkled. This voice, this intoxicating chime of a voice, sang for me. Christine Daaé, my Angel of Music, sang only for me. A monster such as myself did nothing to deserve that gift.

But, suddenly, the angel's feet began to shift, and her chest heaved for air. Christine collapsed, her body giving in from all of the excitement. "Christine, my dear!" I shouted, though she could not hear me. After wrapping my knuckles against the walls in the column of Box Five, I fell into a passage way beneath the seats.

Crawling along the floor, I rushed to the underground hallways which lead me to the girl's mirror. My hurrying feet would not move fast enough, but I soon found myself at the two-way mirror. Looking at the scene on the other side, I felt something inside of me crack, oh, just a little bit, but just enough to send a surge of pain throughout my body.

Surrounded by a crowd of on-lookers, my Angel of Music was cradled in the arms of the Vicomte de Chagny. Her normally tinted cheeks were bone pale, and her limp fingers were intertwined and laid on her stomach. This did not disturb Monsieur Vicomte, though. His eyes were fixed upon her closed lids, and his lips curled into a dainty smile. I knew that smile. That was the same smile Christine possessed when she talked about the man. The smile that confessed more to me than anything the girl would ever say.

I'm very familiar with pain. Pain was my only companion for a long while, before Christine entered my life. But...when I witnessed this quick moment of silence, two unfamiliar pains swept through me. The first was mourning. I mourned the loss of my precious Christine to another. This pain lingered for a while, but was soon replaced by another type of misery. It was called jealousy. I felt my pulse racing in my ears, and my chest throbbed with a stupid longing.

The next emotion was a feeling I'd experienced all of my pitiful life. It was rage. Pure hatred and rage. A blazing fire burned around my hands as the leathery skin was stretched over my clenched joints. Cursing the vicomte and his wretched family, I hissed profanities in all of the languages I knew.

At that moment, Christine's lashes began to flutter, and the color returned to her face. This brought my attention to the fact that there were still others in the room, and a doctor was standing over the two. Chagny muttered something that I could not understand, but, once he was finished talking, Christine began to laugh. What a wonderful laugh she had! Church bells ringing on Sunday morning sounded absurd compared to her delightful giggles. I sighed, a spark of warmth beginning to grow back inside of me.

The vicomte seemed embarrassed and confused, for his brows were knitted together, and his little nose was scrunched up. Trying to piece together what was happening, I realized that Christine was acting as if she'd never met the man! After days of discussion about the young boy of her childhood, Christine was behaving in such a strange way.

Perhaps she had a reason to.

This beautiful creature had seen what I was capable of, and she knew of my strict rules. If she married, I'd leave her. If she had associated with her old flame, she knew what that would do to me and what I might do to the vicomte.

I felt a tear drip from my chin. This woman was protecting Chagny. She was protecting me. I realized then that God had really sent down an Angel of Music. That God had created this fragile girl so that I might live and love like everybody else.

**- - -**

"_He had a heart that could have held the empire of the world; and, in the end, he had to content himself with a cellar."_


End file.
